


Who Fall Again

by Arsenic



Series: Purgative Effects [2]
Category: The OC (TV)
Genre: Bulimia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2020-12-16 05:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Summer relapses.





	Who Fall Again

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to elucreh for the quick beta at a very busy time of year.
> 
> Canonically, despite only having seen the first season, I am aware that Summer and Seth get married in the last ep--I pretty much just ignore that, here.

Seth proposed to Summer on the same day he’d kissed her in front of the whole damn high school, seven years later. The proposal was both ridiculously overplanned and bumbling, in the way that defined Seth, and the hope in his eyes still took her breath away, even after all the times she’d sworn she would stop feeling this way over him.

The ring, hanging from a ribbon around Pancake’s neck, was a [Ritani](http://www.ritani.com/products/view/440/in_collection/1) she’d commented on two years prior, having noticed it in a magazine ad. _She_ barely remembered the event, but clearly Seth had paid attention. She closed her eyes and for a second, was back in his yard that night when she’d first kissed him, learned how carefully he’d catalogued everything about her all those years.

When she opened them, she said, “Yes.”

*

Between the twice-weekly appointments with her therapist; Seth, Ryan, and the Cohens’ support; the online network of bulimia survivors her therapist had turned her on to; and a collection of Sigg bottles so that she was never without water, Summer had been doing all right for the better part of a year.

Upon news of the engagement, her father bought the two of them tickets to Paris for a week to dress shop. Seth engaged in a whole monologue about how her father was really transporting her out of the country to avoid a fate that was—in her father’s eyes—worse than death. (Namely, Summer being married to Seth.) Summer let him talk himself out, called Kirsten to make sure someone would check in on Seth while she was gone, and got on the plane.

The two of them spent half the week in art galleries and at restaurants, her father occasionally asking her if she was sure this was what she wanted to do. She would give him what was now a patented Look, and he would hold his hands up in defeat and that would be it until the next time. For all that, though, she thought he’d gotten used to the idea, was aware that Seth loved her more than any boy had ever loved any girl before, ever.

She returned to the States with a designer [dress](http://www.cymbelineusa.com/images/enlarged/21_EXALTO_c.jpg), and the uneasy knowledge she still needed to fit into it roughly thirteen months later.

*

Summer thought that maybe, if she had relapsed all at once, she might have been able to tell someone—or someone might have noticed. But it wasn’t like that.

The first time was after the cake testing. There had just been so much cake, the different fondants rich and heavy, and each one representing a decision. Seth, of course, liked all the flavors, and had a whole list of pros and cons for each before he’d even finished tasting them.

At one point, she drank the water she’d brought with her compulsively, trying to banish the need to get all of the processed flour, cream and butter out of her. At the third bakery, though, she excused herself to go use the restroom and gave into the need to stick a finger down her throat and be done with it.  
She’d disallowed herself to carry breath mints after she’d left the recovery clinic, but a few swishes of water and another mouthful of cake would probably take care of it just fine. She told herself it wasn’t a relapse, just a moment of weakness. Planning a wedding was stressful.

*

It was like that, at first, just every now and then. Kirsten would take her out for a girls-only lunch to discuss the bridal shower, or Ryan would come over to help them work on save-the-dates and bring chips-and-dip. Summer felt like she had it under control, not the other way around.

At first, when it became a few times a week, and then once-a-day, she honestly didn’t notice how much it had picked up. By the time she knew she was in trouble, she didn’t know how to tell anyone, not when Seth would grin at her every morning when she filled her water bottles up, or Ryan called every once in a while to ask how she was doing.

With five months until the wedding, it was hard to bother anyone with the problem. She could stop. She had before, all she had to do was put the wedding dress somewhere where she couldn’t see it, ask Kirsten for a little more help and make sure to put herself first for a while, until she’d conquered the problem again. No worries.

*

At first it got better, and Summer told herself it was all right, she was taking care of it. Then, after a short period of easing up, the worst of the pressure came rushing back with further fittings, and bridal showers, and Seth freaking out over details.

The day she made herself vomit after drinking a Vitamin Water, she went home early from work, curled up on the floor of the bedroom, and called a number she’d never called before.

A woman picked up on the other end and said, “Hello?”

Summer almost hung up. Instead she said, “This is Summer, um. Summer Roberts? From-- Uh, is this Leigh?”

“Oh my-- Yeah, babe, it’s me. Gimme a second to take a coffee break, okay?”

Summer’d “met” Leigh a week after joining her online comm. for people fighting bulimia. They’d hit it off instantly, and emailed pretty much every day, if not more than once. They’d had each other’s phone numbers for over a year, but neither had ever called.

Leigh got back on the line and asked, “Are you okay? Is it something with Seth? The wedding? What’s going on, hon?”

Leigh sounded Southern, like she was maybe from Tennessee or Georgia. Summer wondered why she’d never thought to ask. Then again, Leigh had never asked where Summer was from, either. Summer took a breath and said, “No, it’s not-- I.” She bit her lip. “I need help, Leigh.”

Leigh exhaled loudly on her end and said, “Oh sweetie. Okay. It happens. You know it happened twice to me.”

Summer nodded, even knowing Leigh couldn’t see. It was why she’d called. Leigh asked, “Sweetie, is there someone I can call, to come be with you? I don’t have to say anything, just—“

Summer didn’t know when she’d started crying, but her voice cracked as she gave Leigh Seth’s number. Leigh said, “Okay, I’m gonna make this call, then I’m gonna call you back and talk about this while he gets there. This is just a setback, hon. We all have them. Just, keep breathing.”

“Okay,” Summer agreed. She did her best.

*

It took Seth twenty-seven minutes to get home. Leigh stayed on with Summer the whole time, even when Summer told her it was okay to hang up. Leigh had said, “Sure, it’s okay, but not great, yeah?”

Summer couldn’t argue with that. Seth came in the house yelling, “Summer? Summer, where are you?”

She called back, “Bedroom,” but didn’t move from the floor. She said, “Leigh, I’m gonna—“

“Go, sure, but you call if you need anything, right?”

Summer pressed her lips together. “I-- Thanks.”

Seth burst in the room and all-but-crashed to his knees. “I got a call from a girl and she said she knew you and that you—“

She put her fingers over his lips and it took a second, but he quieted. She said, “I started up again.”

Seth nodded, but she hadn’t moved her fingers, so he didn’t say anything. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Things were getting overwhelming and I wanted to look good in the dress—“

“You would look good in a fucking sackcloth.”

“Seth.” Her fingers fell away from his mouth.

“I get-- I get that it’s not just the dress. I just think you should know.”

“I didn’t mean for this. I thought I was better.”

“Ryan and I read up. This happens.”

Summer thought of Kirsten and the alcohol and said, “I wanted to be different.”

Seth pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you to be different.”

Summer laughed at that, bitter and sharp. It was Seth’s turn to press his fingers to her lips.  
“Not different, just happier.”

“It’s not you,” she told him.

“But I didn’t notice. Not this time, not any other time.”

“I’m good at hiding.”

She almost didn’t hear him say, “I used to notice that, too.”

*

For the first two weeks after that, Seth called Summer after every meal. It should have driven her crazy—well, it did, a little—but she also loved him for it. He sicced Ryan on her as well, which should have really pissed her the fuck off, but mostly it just made her feel safe, like there was a net this time, if she started falling.

Taylor found new juicing recipes, because drinking juice didn’t make Summer feel as full. She also worked her schedule so that she could go to the gym with Summer, which would make Taylor work out and help Summer not to take it as hard.

Leigh started calling every day. The first time she’d asked, “Is this okay? It was good, hearing your voice.”

Summer’d said, “Yeah, I’m glad you called.”

This time they talked about where they were from and what they did and who they were outside of the disease. And sometimes, when Summer needed it, they talked about that, too.

It was both easier and harder to wean herself the second time. Easier, in the sense that she’d done it before, knew she could, had a better support network established for it. Harder, in the sense that she was less sure it would last this time, had to keep reminding herself that she could keep it up, keep being healthy.

But day by day, she ate things that felt okay staying inside, and when they didn’t, convinced herself that was where they belonged. Every day she went without puking, Seth brought her gifts, trinkets, books and nail polish colors and a handy set of interlocking screwdriver heads. She said, “You don’t need to, you know?”

He said, “You deserve them.”

Inside, she felt a little bit like she just might.

*

On Summer’s wedding day, her dad was the one who helped her get dressed. She knew it was untraditional, but there wasn’t anyone else she wanted for the job. When they’d gotten it buttoned and zipped and hooked properly, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked.

From behind her, her father said, “Not even your mother looked this gorgeous on our wedding day.”

It was her dad’s job to be biased, she knew. Still, the dress fit perfectly. She said, “Yup, feeling like a pretty princess.”

Despite the joking edge to her voice, she kind of meant it.


End file.
